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The Investigation of the Mine

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The Investigation of the Mineby Niji Fel'Amrit on Wed, 20 Feb 2008 11:03

The orc band had been taken care of, two score of the ungodly creatures taken relatively unaware by Niji, his lieutentant Jaegrun, and two other drow. They had dispatched the stragglers and then moved in as a group on the main body of the orcs, who had been preoccupied and struggling to move their provisions. There was no officiating presence, or if there was, he or she had slid out at the first sign of trouble.

Saren had not been displeased by the attack, and the drow band now had pack lizards and ample supplies (which they had been running down on). There was an inventory in the hands of the orcs, and it transpired that the supplies of iron and steel they lumbered were indeed on their way to the Kolkudya Mine. The parchment papers were also signed with a curious drow sigil unknown to them.

Now, Niji himself had gone on ahead to scout out the mine. The area was warm and oppressive, courtesy of the moving lava floes.

Sat on a rock near a lava flow, picking his teeth, sits a Kobold. He seems quite content. Some iron shackles lie at his feet, the only sign that he has escaped some sort of imprisonment.

He decides to thank the Dragon-Godess for the providence that she may or may not have provided when he made his escape, closing his eyes and beginning to meditate. His sences become hightened and he becomes keenly aware of his surroundings, and the approaching patter of large, stealthy feet...

The orc band had tried to scatter after their slow-witted comprehension of the drow attack, but they were hemmed-in by the cavern structure and couldnâ€™t really move. Those that did try to flee were chased and cut down by swords. It was a slaughter.

But two orcs survived the ordeal, and quite by chance. The orc leader Slaghig was one. He was a really tall and really stooped orc. Those that toiled under him (of course now largely now-deceased) had reckoned he was so stooped because he liked to beat down on those under him and pummel other orcs with his huge fists. Slaghig had been instructed by two tricky drow to transport supplies to the mine. But more than that: short on orcs, they had wanted him to help lumber it. A tall order that, since he was the taskmaster. It was something the stooped orc had cursed about most of the way, his back struggling to carry great plates of iron.

Of course, the others had been happy that their leader wasnâ€™t leering and beating down on them with his fierce fists. They had just about kept quiet about it, until Slaghig heard some faint snorts of laughter after one particularly seething curse on his part. With another curse he had moved to the side, dislodging his load and causing it to buckle and fall onto the other carrier. In the next breath he had firmly recanted his positionâ€”drow be damnedâ€”and was moving through the ranks, fist in full pummelling mode.

He got down the lines, feeling much happier by this time, when he dimly realised one of their number had not actually felt his fist. By Gruumsh, someone was missing. The tall orc narrowed his eyes and tried to spy out the grunt who had evaded him. The orc, Snog it turned out, was not to be found. Querying in the guttural orc tongue, it transpired that Snog had ended up carrying a big sack of supplies by himself. And: â€œHe was â€˜ere moments ago,â€ replied one orc.

Slaghig fumed a bit more, beat his fist a bit more, and then stormed off back the way they had come: he couldnâ€™t be far? Snog wasnâ€™t too far off the beaten track, but his sack had been thrown down and the young orc was shaking his head. â€œCanâ€™t go on.â€

His masterâ€™s reply was to administer a beating. Both orcs were oblivious to the presence of Thank-woll.

Meditation is a wonderful and fulfilling activty that is quite ingraned into the Kobold culture. Every morning, the entire clan would gather to meditate on the days' mining tasks. Hearing scuffles was just part of the fun.

But Thank-woll was not in the Kobold Lair now. The scuffle he could hear was not friendly Koblod fighting. The footsteps were to lumbering, the breathing to hog-like. The voices decidedly rough, and orc-like. The smell... best left undescribed.

The half-pint dragon-blooded lizard opened on eye. Orcs. Kobolds donâ€™t like orcs, as a rule. They are unorganised and general thieves. His tribe had told a story of a band of orcs that liked stealing so much, they stole the horde of Tiamat herself, shortly before they were all incinerated, frozen, gassed, eaten by acid and then electrocuted. Orcs, in short, are not whom Thank-woll wishes to talk to. Their masters on the other hand... they may be worth dealing with.

Standing up slowly and retrieving his warn staff of magic, the little lizard stalked towards the orcs, keeping into the shadows.

Izzafein looked through the inventory and compared it to what goods they had retrieved from the band of orcs. He took note of each pack and its contents. They were a little shy of what was listed, that would mean a few weren't with the rest of the group. Looking to the sigil of the unknown drow house he felt a slight chill as he though Are the survivors going to return to their source? If they do their lives are forfeit for sure... however the matron of that house might send out a search for their missing goods... He rolled the paper and placed it in his satchel as well, it seemed he had a great many things in that bag.

With that he went to greet his sister and to make an account of everything they acquired in this little waylaying of the orcs, "Matron, it appears these orcs were working for some house..." he showed her the sigil, "... also there are some packs unaccounted for which means some of the band were either ahead or behind this lot, either way they may likely alert this unknown house." He left the parchment in her hands and continued, "The acquired slaves have been fitted with shackles," he let a smirk escape his collected composure, "... no need for chains, with the house sigil on them they are connected to me... and I to them in some measure. They won't get out of hand, and if they do I can aptly persuade them to behave." With that he waited for his matron to absorb and take in all this information and give what instruction she wished, for he knew she would.

The Thrill, the Caverns and Matron Sarenby Larfunnel on Mon, 26 May 2008 04:47

The drow wizard Larfunnel looked from Izzafein to Saren, his mouth a crooked smile. He was beginning to appreciate the circumstance of this venture. The caverns felt raw and vibrant and alive. The danger seemed to enthuse his body with nervous enegry. He suspected Matron Saren was also feeling the thrill and the close-to-the-edge nature of their passage because her decisions thus far had been bold and daring.

Larfunnel knew she was getting carried away by it. It was almost like her weight and power was being thrown or cast against the caverns and she would come outâ€“by all meansâ€”triumphant. Claiming the supplies and slaves was one thing, but now Niji was venturing into the mines on an impromptu investigation. What was Saren planning next? Those supplies had been heading this way, but into whose hands? Larfunnel had a funny feeling about this place, a feeling that something bad was about to happen, but he nevertheless felt prepared for it.

Whether it was the rawness of the caverns or their Matronâ€™s bold actions that assured him, Larfunnel could not ignore the reckless thrill and ecstasy of adventure he felt coarsing through his body.

The two orcs, Slaghig and Snog, had (after the former had beaten the latter) returned to an unsettling scene of unruffled carnage. Slagâ€™s orcs had been neatly sliced to ribbons, and not one member had survived. The orcâ€™s eye took in the scene and his head gave a mournful shake. He was wily enough to suspect it was drow, because it all looked so clean and professional, and heâ€™d seen the signs before.

The supplies and lesser slaves were gone, no doubt stolen by the damned dark elves. Only the large pieces of iron and steel cladding remained. Snog at this point began spitting and slavering in wild-eyed bewilderment, but Slaghig barked him quiet. The drow could still be around, too.

What to do, what to do?? Go on to the mines, meet those dark elves there and tell them theyâ€™d been waylaid? Go back to the master and tell him about it? Or get out of there completely? As the stooped Slaghig looked around, there was still steel here which could be collected and used. His scant line of thinking was that the drow at the mine might be compassionate if they knew it was still here. But, then another thought dawned on him: what if the drow at the mine were responsible for killing his brutes? It was puzzle, and he spat out his disgust. â€œDamn drow.â€

"Get everything loaded up then. We will leave as soon as the Weapons Master returns." Saren responded smoothly to Izzafein. "Orcs are faithless, stupid creatures. They will take whatever valuables they can find, and go on their way." Saren exchanged glances with Larfunnel, her brow raised at his grin.

Once, Saren had been overly cautious. Before the fall of Ched Nasad she had been a perfectionist; everything had a place, an order. Some of her larger power-grabs had been plots with years of planning in them. Now, however, she was playing everything by ear. Larfunnel would not be incorrect in saying that the Matron was invigorated, despite all of her hard work destroyed in the destruction of their city. Saren buzzed with energy that she had lacked since the Spider Queen withdrew her gifts from her Priestesses. Her purpose was renewed, her bloodline, her house, would survive where Ched Nasad had died.

"I want you to find out what house this is." Saren addressed Larfunnel once she had examined the parchment, passing the document over to the wizard. "I want to know what we might be dealing with."

"Who the house is . . . " mused the mage. The smile was still on his lips. It twisted with thoughtful indulgence as he examined the scroll and the mysterious sigil. At length, he decided to burn the thing.

With a murmured word or two, he flung the parchment into the air and darkly breathed some syllables. The page flared into flames and fell to ashes upon the rocky floor.

Larfunnel looked to the two drow, Saren and Izzafein. If they were perturbed by his action, his impetuous smile shone in defiance. "Look," he bade their eyes lower. On the floor now, the ashes had curiously taken shape into the same sigil, albeit in a larger shape. Larfunnel bowed his head and whispered more words then, a weighty divination spell that worked mysteriously on the ashes. In a trancelike state, he began to whisper some details, including a name. "House . . . Ark Z'elistyl . . . 27th House of . . . of Mezonberranzan? It is outside the ruling houses . . . believed to have ties to House Duskryn."

Larfunnel suddenly looked up from his trance, and shook his head, as if clearing it. The smile looked more weary now. "Does that help, Mistress?"

The soldier found Niji and together the two returned to the drow company. The Weapons Master issued his report to Matron Saren. It was as usual, a pragmatic, perfunctory summary.

It touched upon the obviousâ€”that the area was oppressive and moist; the tunnels were harder to navigate; very low headroom in places; lava floes fed into a large mining structure.

It touched on the moderately obviousâ€”that the structure was fortified, and patrolled by drow, even given its remote location. There were ramparts, upon which stood footsoldiers. Even a few patrolled in the nearer caves upon lizards.

Finally, Niji's report touched upon the less obvious. It seemed he had scouted a bit closer to the structure and eavesdropped on a conversation betwen a drow and two hapless orcs. "The orcs we set upon had been delivering raw materials to the mines. They are producing a mechanical structure. What was odd: I heard something about gnomes. They have gnomish captives who are dabbling with . . . gun powder?"

He listened and watched carefully as the mage managed his divination. Izzafein memorized the sigil that ended up on the ground nodding slowly. "Mezonberranzan, " he thought to himself, "Have we really traveled so far as to cross into their circle of influence?" He knew they the massive city cavern was an impressive work and held many powerful houses. "It might be best to steer clear of them... at least until we've found someplace secure..." he said barely a breath of sound escaping his lips. He was being careful not to upset his matron especially now that she seemed to be regaining a measure of her power if not all of it. The hard life, since the fall of Ched Nasad, had tempered them all as they survived day by day in the wild of the Underdark.

Now from Niji... forts, gnomes, and gun powder? Oh, he had heard and seen gunpowder in his work as one of the house merchants. He hoped profoundly that they didn't run across any such parties armed with weapons that took advantage of that devistating substance. So he continued to work things out as the weapons master continued to brief Saren of his findings, until the time that his expertise was needed.

- A band of orcs were to deliver iron and steel to the Kolkudya Mine.- The transport inventory bore the sigil of House Ark Zâ€™elistyl, 27th House of Menzoberranzan.- The Kolkudya Mine was an old mining station beyond an oppressive area of low headroom tunnels and searnig heat, courtesy of hot lava floes.- The mine was fortified. Drow patrolled ramparts.- Orc rumours of creating a new mechanical structure, something involving gnomes and gunpowder.- A number of the orcs were unaccounted forâ€”another band nearby with more supplies?

Gunpowder . . . it triggered a thought. "Could this drow group or mining effort be linked to the disaster in Ched Nasad?" he queried. Duergar, incendiary pots . . . was that too big a leap?